


weave of events

by dustofwarfare, MxTicketyBoo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, M/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26273215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxTicketyBoo/pseuds/MxTicketyBoo
Summary: Claude aims and is about to let the arrow fly when something sharp jabs his forearm—the pain feels like the nick of a sword, or the blade of a dagger, and for a second he thinks Felix’s thrown a dagger at him in a last-ditch attempt to save his life.But, no. There’s no dagger, just him standing with the tip of his boot pressed lightly against Felix’s wound, his arrow aimed true at Felix’s heart...and on his forearm, the unmistakable and brand-new soulbond mark.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 25
Kudos: 128
Collections: 2020 Ultra Rarepair Big Bang





	weave of events

**Author's Note:**

> For the Ultra Rarepair Big Bang, in collaboration with the lovely [@MiidniightSuun](https://twitter.com/MiidniightSuun). (Thank you so much!!) Check out the end of the fic for a preview of the amazing art and the end notes for a link to where you can find the full image! :D 
> 
> As stated in the tags, this is intended to be set in the Verdant Wind route, but bear in mind, we took liberties and there is some canon divergence.
> 
> Thanks to Lines for the beta and the organizers of the URBB for putting this together! <3

_Gronder Field_

Claude leans back in the brush where he’s crouched, listening to the rustle of the trees and watching as a man stumbles into the clearing. He’s by himself, but dressed in the blue armor of the kingdom’s army, but he’s clearly injured and took a brief detour from the fighting to attend to his wounds. 

Unfortunate. Because this is war, and Claude is going to have to kill him, and what makes it even _worse_ is that Claude knows him. Oh, not personally, and maybe _knows_ isn’t the right word, but at least knows who he is. 

Felix Fraldarius is hastily casting a faith spell over his side, trying to repair what seems to be a deep, but not mortal, wound. Not that Claude would have let him bleed out and die alone in the woods—not his style, and it’s not as if Claude started this war in the first place. He can afford to show some mercy. 

Claude nocks his arrow. He can see the moment Felix knows he’s there, the soft inhale, the fingers going for his sword. It’s too late. Claude has the arrow drawn, aimed at Felix’s throat. 

“Well. This is awkward. Don’t suppose you want to surrender?” Claude asks, a little hopefully. 

Felix just stares at him. He looks tired, but who doesn’t? “I don’t suppose you do?” 

Claude smiles a little sadly. “I’m sorry, Felix—” 

Felix moves, faster than Claude allowed for given the wound still pouring blood at his side, and it almost goes badly—Claude’s penchant for running his mouth really might have been his downfall, just like his parents and every instructor he ever had always said — but Felix is injured and Claude is not, and a few clever sideways hops and a leg sweep has him knocking Felix to his back and disarming him. 

Claude kicks the sword out of reach and draws his bow again. The arrow is pointed right at Felix’s heart. “I’ll make it quick. Clean. Is there something you want me to do—after?” It seems only right to ask. 

“Fuck off and die,” is Felix’s response. 

Well. He should have expected that, probably. Claude aims and is about to let the arrow fly when something sharp jabs his forearm—the pain feels like the nick of a sword, or the blade of a dagger, and for a second he thinks Felix’s thrown a dagger at him in a last-ditch attempt to save his life.

But, no. There’s no dagger, just him standing with the tip of his boot pressed lightly against Felix’s wound, his arrow aimed true at Felix’s heart...and on his forearm, the unmistakable and brand-new soulbond mark. 

An arrow and a sword, crossed. 

He looks at Felix. Felix stares back. 

Claude sighs and lowers the bow. 

“Show me mercy and I’ll take your head anyway, von Riegan,” Felix snarls, scrambling up, going immediately for his weapon. 

“Look at your forearm,” says Claude. “Because you won’t.” 

Felix gets his sword. He tries a lunge, but at the last second, the sword veers harmlessly toward Claude’s left. Scowling, Felix shoves up the dirty coat of his uniform and stares in disbelief at his own arm.

A shield, and a crescent moon. 

“That’s the Riegan crest, the moon,” Claude points out. “You know what they say. Soulmarks happen in extreme emotional distress.” 

“No,” Felix says, though Claude doesn’t know what part he’s refuting since the proof is literally right there. “These aren’t _real_.” 

“Apparently they are,” says Claude, who feels like maybe he, also, should try and kill Felix because Felix tried to kill _him_. But he doesn’t want to waste the arrow. He studies his own mark, stark black on his skin where before there was nothing. 

“I wasn’t afraid of dying,” Felix snaps, because he’s a Faerghan and apparently they court death, sing it sweetly lullabies and tuck it gently beneath their pillows. As if that’s the thing he has a problem with. The idea he was _emotional_ about his impending _death_. 

“Doesn’t mean you weren’t a little emotional about it, does it?” Claude asks. 

“I remember why I didn’t like you,” says Felix.

Claude’s eyes narrow. That seems a bit unfair. “Because I was about to kill you?” 

“Because you can’t do it without talking. Posturing. You’re as bad as Sylvain.” Felix puts his hands on his hips. “So you’re my soulmate. Surrender and I’ll. Explain it to Dimitri, I guess.” 

“You surrender,” Claude says, chin raising. “And I’ll explain it to the Deer. Don’t know if you noticed, Fraldarius, but you’re king is a little. _Intense_ about taking heads and slaughtering anyone who gets in his way right now.”

“You were going to kill me and I was wounded!” 

“You would have been annoyed if I let you go, and the whole point of war is to kill each other, and _by the way_ , let’s not forget neither of us started this war so why are we killing each other over it, again?” 

“We aren’t, apparently.” Felix’s mouth goes tight. “We could ignore it. Go back to battle.” 

“I don’t think that will work,” says Claude. “I won’t be able to do anything now that we—have this.” He waves his arm. “I’ll just follow you around. Keeping you from another wound—what is that, anyway, how did someone get the drop on you? You left your side open? That’s pretty intermediate-level stuff, Felix, I’m—” 

Felix turns and starts walking away. “We’re done here.” 

“Hey!” Claude laughs, a little wildly. “You know what happens if you die, right?” 

“I don’t have to talk to you anymore?” 

“Yeah, no. You’ll kill me, and I—Felix, no, that wasn’t—damn it,” Claude hisses, slinging Failnaught over his shoulder. “Come back here, that wasn’t a _battle plan_ , what are you—” 

He has to crash after Felix into the brush. 

***

Felix staggers through the brush, batting a tree branch out of his way and grumbling under his breath. The wound in his side wrenches viciously, a sharp stab of pain that forces a hiss through his teeth. He can feel it bleeding still, the sluggish trickle of warm fluid seeping into his shirt and the leg of his breeches as he stomps back toward the battlefield. He needs assistance, likely from someone more skilled in faith magic than himself, but he’d done what he could before he heard Claude’s approach mid-healing spell.

The flesh had only just begun to knit itself back together when he’d aborted to go on the defensive. And, well…having Claude’s boot pressed to the injury certainly hadn’t helped the situation, but Felix can’t find it in himself to be angry about that. He would’ve done the same thing in Claude’s position. Hell, he probably would’ve killed Claude outright without bothering to try to ask any questions first. 

This is war, and all’s fair—even if it doesn’t always feel that way.

He really should dig that one last vulnerary from his bag before he dives back into the fray, but he can’t risk stopping and waiting for Claude to catch up with him.

Soulmates or not, they have a battle to finish. Felix can’t let himself be swayed by destiny’s misjudgment or Claude’s continual scheming. Claude’s just as mouthy and silver-tongued as he’d been at the academy, his eyes calculating but never smiling, no matter what the rest of his face might be doing. 

Felix didn’t trust him then, and he doesn’t now. Whatever he thinks of the boar’s crazed rantings and single-minded thirst for vengeance, Felix knows which side of the war he’s on, and he’ll fight for Faerghus until his dying breath. Nearly had but a moment ago. He’d let himself be caught off guard twice in a matter of minutes, and that thought is as humiliating as the soulmark currently throbbing like a fresh brand on his arm.

Felix scoffs under his breath. Soulmates. How absurd.

He’d heard the stories about soulmarks, of course. Every child had. Fanciful tales he never gave much credence to. According to the legends, the marks only manifested in times of great emotional duress. People claimed that was why soulmates were so rare. One had to be near enough to their potential soulmate to be impacted by the other person’s emotional state, and how often, realistically, could such a thing be expected to occur?

Felix himself didn’t know anyone else who had a soulmark. He’d never seen one outside of illustrations in a book. Never imagined, not even in his wildest dreams, that such a fate would ever befall him. He never _wanted_ it to. To be so tied to someone else, possibly a stranger. To have his life dependent on their actions. To think some god or goddess could choose a more suitable partner for him than he could himself.

For it to be _Claude_? And for it to be _now_?

This is not the time, and certainly not the place, here in the forest on the edge of Gronder Field with the smell of blood iron-thick in the air. The sounds of violence and suffering the score to their macabre opera. Even now, some of their comrades, their friends, lay in their death throes, final gasps rattling in their chests before the breathing stopped altogether.

Felix doesn’t relish killing. He never has, and he never will. But the only chance of ending this war is to cut his way through. He has no time to think about anything else.

“Felix!” Claude calls from behind him. “Will you _wait_ , please?”

Against his better judgment, Felix stops. He’s near the border of the trees now, the cacophony of clashing weapons so near he can hear the grind of metal on metal as if it’s right in his ear. This field won’t be his final resting place. Not if he can help it. And that means…perhaps Claude is right. Perhaps they _should_ come up with some sort of plan before they exit the cover of the forest.

Strong fingers wrap around his upper arm, and Felix tears himself away, spinning to face his supposed soulmate. “ _What_? What’s your brilliant idea, Mr. Master Tactician?”

“I’m still trying to think of one,” Claude says, hands up and placating.

That draws Felix up short.

“Here, take this.” Claude steps forward and thrusts something at him. Felix accepts it without thinking and looks down to see a small bottle in his hand. A concoction. “Drink it so you stop bleeding all over the place. You need to be at your best if we’re going to try to stop this fight.”

Felix pulls the cork free with his teeth, spits it out onto the forest floor, and tosses the bitter fluid back in one go. The effects are instantaneous, helping along what he’d started with the faith spell earlier. He doesn’t flinch as the skin knits together, not even when the pain flares abruptly before easing into something tolerable, a mild ache like a tender bruise. It’s not a perfect cure—the wound in his side will take days to be completely healed—but it’s enough to stop the injury from impeding him in battle. That’s the most important part.

Claude plants his hands on his hips, his bow, Failnaught, hanging over one shoulder.

“Look, I wasn’t expecting this either.” He doesn’t need to clarify what _this_ is. “I think we can both agree the timing is truly terrible.”

Felix grunts, tossing the empty bottle of potion in the same direction he’d sent the cork.

Claude steps closer. “We can also agree it would be ideal if we could keep casualties to a minimum in this battle, yes? I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty damn tired of the bloodshed.”

“Yes,” Felix says grudgingly.

“But about these soulmarks—”

“They’re not important,” Felix interrupts. “We don’t need to waste our time discussing them. It’s possible neither of us will make it out of this battle alive, let alone have an opportunity to do anything about the bond. If we’re going to try to stop the fighting, we should decide on a strategy instead.”

“You don’t think this is important?” Claude yanks up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing his left forearm and the mark Felix saw a little while ago. “This here means you’re my destiny, right? And I’m yours. That doesn’t matter to you?”

Felix clenches his teeth as his own mark seems to throb in response to seeing the crossed bow and sword branded on Claude’s light-brown skin. It’s all in his head. It must be. “No, it doesn’t. We’re at war. You just said it yourself, the timing is terrible.”

“Yeah, well, like it or not, we’re tied to each other now. I won’t be able to focus out there knowing you’re in danger. And you won’t be able to either. Believe me, I know. I’ve seen soulbonds in action.”

“You’re wrong.” Felix tips up his chin. “I’m fully capable of ignoring my baser instincts. Discipline is the defining characteristic of any decent swordsman. I can go out there and not even fucking _think_ about you.”

Claude tilts his head, green eyes narrowed. “Is that right? You think you can fight off this sort of ingrained instinct with a silver blade like you do everything else?”

Felix glares right back at him. “I do.”

Claude shakes his head and gives a brief, bitter laugh. “Of course you do.”

Felix opens his mouth to protest. Whatever Claude may think, he doesn’t know Felix, doesn’t understand his motivations _or_ his loyalties, but before he can speak, Claude crowds into his personal space, grabs Felix by the back of the head, and yanks him into a bruising kiss.

***

This was an effective way to make Felix stop talking, but now Claude is. Kissing. Kissing Felix. During a _battle_ , in a _war_. 

And it’s the best kiss he’s ever had, hands-down, in his whole life. 

Claude knows about soulmates, and the strong, physical draw between them; his parents are soulmates, and the gods know he and his brothers have walked in on them kissing time and time again, and they’re lucky kissing is _all_ they’ve caught them at. 

So he should have known that this would be intense. But knowing it and experiencing it, those are two different things. Felix’s mouth is hot beneath Claude’s, and the shock of pure want that goes up his spine is shudderingly-good, heat curling in the pit of his stomach and his cock growing hard. 

“What the fuck,” Felix says, into the kiss. His hand grabs at Claude’s shoulder, but he doesn’t push him away. His fingers are strong—he has a swordsman’s grip, and he’s using it to keep Claude right where he is. 

“Still wanna go out there and fight, Fraldarius?” 

“Let—stop this, von Riegan,” Felix snarls, but he’s kissing Claude back so hotly that it’s clear he doesn’t mean it. 

“Soulbonds,” Claude says, against his mouth, running his hands over Felix’s shoulders, his chest, down to his narrow waist. “That’s what they do.” Fuck, Felix is hard, too. Claude sucks on his bottom lip. “You can’t just walk away from this, and neither—mmm—can I.” 

“I’m not,” Felix mumbles, fingers tangling in Claude’s hair. “Going to die. While I’m _making out_ with Duke fucking Riegan.” 

“Is it better if I tell you my real name now, or later?” Claude asks, pushing him back toward a tree. “It might help if you knew I'm the crown prince of Almyra. Khalid. That’s my name.” 

That’s enough to get Felix pushing him away, his amber eyes hazy and wide. “You’re—we need to. To stop this. I can’t think, I hate it.”

“Okay,” Claude breathes. “Okay, let’s take care of this.” He pushes Felix back against the tree, kisses him again, and reaches down to rub his hand over the hard press of Felix’s cock against his pants. 

“Are you—what are you _doing_?” 

Claude pulls back and gives him a droll look. “Isn’t it kind of obvious? Look, you know we need to both survive this and we’re not going to if you. If _we_ —” he shakes his head, trying not to think about the thousands of complications having a soulmate is going to bring to his life. 

Right now, he has Felix, panting harshly and glaring at him like he wishes he could have been the one to find _Claude_ injured instead of the other way around—not that it would have mattered, their soulbond would have manifested either way. 

“You—have done this before, right?” Claude asks, leaning in, nosing at Felix’s neck. He smells like sweat and dirt, and it must be the bond because Claude wants to _lick_ him. 

“Fuck you,” is Felix’s response to that.

Claude smiles and bites at Felix’s neck. “You’re wearing a lot of clothes, here, Felix.” 

“We’re in the middle of a fucking war, what is _wrong_ with you?” 

“You’re the one wearing three belts,” Claude points out, and hides a laugh in Felix’s neck when he makes a huffy, offended noise and reaches down to undo some of his myriad belts by himself. 

There are sounds behind them; the rough clatter of armor, the occasional shout, the bright flare of magefire lighting up the sky. Claude hears Felix draw a breath, whether to speak or to moan, he’s not sure, but either way Claude slams him back against the tree and kisses him to keep him quiet. 

When all those mysterious belts are finally loose, he’s able to work his hand down and past Felix’s tight breeches to curl around his hard cock. 

“You want this, don’t you,” Claude says, shaking from adrenaline, and Felix’s cock is slick and hot in his hand. “Want me to make you come.” 

Felix’s hips buck against Claude’s hand. “Want you to. To hurry _up_ ,” Felix hisses, but he grabs Claude and kisses him, and his hand flattens against Claude’s chest and slides down. 

“Trying to find my knife, Fraldarius?” 

“Is that what you call it?” Felix smiles, a quick slash of his mouth that’s gone so quickly Claude would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking right at Felix’s face.

Claude snorts a laugh and jerks his hand, hard and tight. Felix’s body shudders, pressed against Claude’s and the tree. “If we had more time. I would love to lay you out, strip you, take you _apart_. Later, yeah?”

“If we don’t—ah, fuck—if we don’t die,” says Felix, eyes sliding half-closed. 

Well. His soulmate, what a romantic. 

“I’m not going to let that happen. I’ll talk to Edelgard, stop this fucking war myself.” He bites at Felix’s neck, shivers as he feels Felix shove a thigh between his legs and press against his own hard cock. 

“Maybe you could. Talk less,” says Felix, fingers curling around Claude’s upper arms. “Fuck, why are you so hot, I don’t _want_ a fucking soulmate and you never stop talking and yeah, tighter, move your hand—fuck, Claude, _fuck.”_

Claude nips at Felix’s neck. “Yeah. That’s it. You’re pretty hot yourself, you know. You’re so hard, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. I always knew swordplay got you going.” 

Felix grabs him and kisses him, hard, and it isn’t long before his hips buck and Claude swallows his groan of release. Felix comes sticky and hot in his hand, and when Claude pulls his hand free he waits for Felix to blink hazy amber eyes at him, then flashes a filthy grin and sucks his fingers clean of Felix’s spend. 

Felix bangs his head back against the tree. For a moment, Claude takes in the ridiculousness of their situation—newly-discovered soulmates, compelled by the strange magic that binds them to want their hands all over each other in the _worst possible time_ , and then is distracted watching Felix, still flushed and breathing hard, do up his laces and fix his armor. 

He half-expects Felix to turn and charge back into the fight, leaving him there with sticky fingers and a hard-on. But Felix moves fast, grabs Claude and flips them around so that Claude’s back hits the tree. The bark is rough, and something drops from the tree on his head—sap, and that’s the _best_ case scenario—but all of that is forgotten when Felix takes his mouth and pushes himself hard against Claude. 

“Listen to me. I don’t want this. I don’t—have time. For distractions.” He slams one hand on the tree trunk and glares so hotly at Claude, it’s like Claude didn’t just get him off, have him moaning into his mouth and fucking Claude’s hand.

His thigh presses against Claude’s cock, like before, and starts to grind. “So you’re going to come for me, and do it fast, and then we’ll. Figure this out.” 

Felix stares at him. Claude’s eyes go wide, and he’s not sure if he’s supposed to say something but he’s never really been one to keep his mouth shut. “You—ah—this is. Really doing it for me. You can pin me down and take me apart, too.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Felix snarls, but he’s watching Claude as he rubs his muscular thigh against Claude’s erection like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of how it’s making Claude feel. 

Claude lets his head go back, and pulls Felix in closer so he can start to grind _himself_ against Felix’s thigh. “I think you’d love to fuck me,” he says, into Felix’s ear. His whole body flashes hot with desire, thinking about. “I know I’d love to fuck _you_. Do you fuck like you fight, eh, Fraldarius? I bet you do. Bet it’s, mm, fast and hard, bet you don’t show any mercy—” 

“Goddess, would you just stop talking,” Felix mutters, moving with him, like they’ve done this a thousand times before. 

“Sure,” Claude says. “If you make me. I might.” 

“Ugh,” says Felix, and kisses him. He’s practically fucking Claude back against the tree, and just the thought of it—the two of them, naked, with privacy and oil and _time_ —has him on edge in seconds. He doesn’t know if it’s just the adrenaline or if it’s the soulbond or what, but he’s nearly there in seconds. 

Claude curls one hand around the back of Felix’s neck and hooks one leg around Felix’s hip—he’s flexible enough, strong from all the wyvern riding, that he can use his muscles to pull Felix against him harder while he grinds against his thigh. 

Felix eventually pulls his mouth free, pushes his face in Claude’s neck and says, “Would you just come for me, you insufferable _bastard_ ,” before he bites Claude on the shoulder, _hard_. 

Claude gasps up at the slate-gray sky and comes like he’s seventeen, in his breeches, against the hard muscular thigh grinding so fucking perfect against his cock. The pleasure sweeps over him in hot, electric pulses, and for a second he forgets about war and death and fear, and just drifts on the quiet of it, the sense of _rightness_ in a world gone mad. 

It doesn’t last, of course; it can’t. Before long he’s aware of the sounds growing closer, the shouts becoming less indistinct, the smell of fire and pitch on the cool air making him remember where they are, and why. Felix is still pressed against him, and Claude lets himself enjoy the press of a strong warm body against his own, the sense of connection with another person that he’s never felt, not once, in his whole life. And he knows part of it is just—magic, that strange arcane bond that makes two people soulmates and gives them an immediate connection regardless if they’ve met before but...it’s still. Nice. Better than that. Amazing. 

Worth fighting for. Not just for him and Felix, but everyone. 

“No one else is going to die here, today,” says Claude. 

“It’s war,” Felix mumbles, sounding drowsy, breath spilling warm against Claude’s skin. “You can’t. Can’t stop it.” 

Claude smiles. “Watch me.” 

***

It seemed like nothing more than a boast at the time, but Felix did, in fact, watch Claude put an end to the war.

After they cleaned themselves up, Claude tore off a piece of Felix’s white shirt—the side that _wasn’t_ blood-stained—and shot it toward the Imperial forces, sending up the universal signal for a ceasefire.

It took some doing to get to Edelgard and then several minutes of Claude’s silver-tongued persuasion to convince her retainer not to eviscerate them and actually give them a chance to speak to the Emperor.

Edelgard’s face remained impassive while Claude explained their soulbond and the expression didn’t flicker once throughout his impassioned speech about all of the unnecessary loss of life and the strides they must all take for peace.

They could put an end to the fighting, he’d said, if they agreed to meet and discuss a treaty like the rational people they all purported themselves to be. People who used their words and not their weapons to get their message across. Somewhere neutral but also familiar to everyone involved. Garreg Mach.

At length, Edelgard nodded and simply said, “Very well. If you think _he_ can be convinced.” And it was then Felix finally saw a glimpse of the weariness in her eyes. She’d chosen a bloody path, a violent means to an end, and yet, Felix didn’t think she relished the killing any more than he did. She wanted a better, more equal world. It was a desire that, at heart, Felix agreed with. He only wished Claude had managed to get them all to sit down and talk five years ago, before so many senseless deaths and before half the continent had been razed by warfare.

Nevertheless, Edelgard agreed to retreat.

Dimitri took more convincing—a sparring match that ended with Felix finally punching him dead in the nose and shouting, “Don’t you dare fucking kill my soulmate, _boar_!”

It was probably treason. One day soon, if the boar could fend off his demons, he’d ascend to the throne. Felix had laid his hands on his future king to protect a prince from Almyra. By all rights, that should be his neck on a platter. But no one stepped in to stop him. Truly, they were all, down to the last lowly soldier, tired of fighting. Exhausted to their very cores.

And now, here they are at Garreg Mach.

Felix stands near the fireplace in the war council room, watching three leaders warily eye each other across a table. His father is, as ever, at the boar’s side. Dedue stands behind the two of them, towering and vigilant, with Sir Gilbert beside him.

Edelgard has a contingent of guards at her back and Hubert’s menacing presence seated to her right.

On Claude’s side of the table, he has Gloucester, Hilda and Byleth, their former professor as emotionless as always, but occasionally interjecting when the discussions turn particularly heated. Usually it’s the boar, snarling. Edelgard, hands folded and face serene, is the epitome of restraint compared to him. Claude has no guards in the room, save for, of course, Felix, who grudging as he may be about the whole soulbond situation, would leap in to defend him at the slightest provocation. 

Damn instinct.

But Claude had been right, of course. Whatever magic ties them together is not something that can be pierced by blade or bow. It grew more powerful by the hour, and if they weren’t here in this room, for the fifth day of talks in a row, they’d be somewhere dark with their hands all over each other.

That part, Felix must admit, isn’t altogether bad. They’re good together in bed. Not that they’ve done anything beyond using their hands and mouths, not with everything that’s been happening. But it’s enough to have Felix eager for more. He’s perhaps a bit resentful about it, and yet… the idea of the two of them has started to gain a certain appeal. Whether that’s simply the bond, he can’t say. That part is also frustrating, but the most important thing is that once this treaty is signed, once they know the fighting is well and truly over and the time for rebuilding has begun, they can move forward from there. Figure it all out. 

Time is a luxury now, and it seems as if, today, their uneasy group has finally reached an accord. And all without anyone’s throat being ripped out.

Felix must admit he’s impressed by Claude’s powers of persuasion. He probably _could_ have put a stop to things, years ago, had any of them suspected what Edelgard had planned.

No matter. What’s done can’t be changed. But the future is a blank canvas, and they have the power to decide what picture will go there in the end.

Felix shifts in place as quills are dipped into inkpots and signatures scrawled over parchment.

The boar, Gilbert, and Dedue leave almost immediately. The Emperor lingers for a moment, saying something to Claude Felix can’t catch from where he stands.

Claude meets her gaze and nods, once, firm. Later, Felix will ask him what she said. For now he stands there waiting as the room slowly empties.

When it’s only the two of them, Claude strides over.

“Well,” he says on a sigh. “It’s done. I have to say, it went smoother than I expected.”

Felix snorts. “It took five days.”

“Ah, but no one’s head is on a pike.” Claude steps closer, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Felix stiffens, still unused to the casual affection. Claude is more demonstrative than he expected. Surprisingly so. It only happens when they're alone, in private, but he touches Felix easily, even when Felix reacts like the skittish cat Claude accuses him of being. It’s not that Felix minds, as such. It’s just…unfamiliar. And he wonders how much of the affection is the influence of their soulbond and how much is Claude himself. The bond has certainly impacted Felix as well; he's protective of Claude in a way he's never quite felt before.

Claude leans in to kiss the side of his neck. “Considering the fact that no one is dead, and no one else will be dying anytime soon, not on a battlefield at any rate, I’d call this a victory.”

Felix can’t disagree.

“Your father congratulated me before today’s meeting. You told him, then? That you’ll be coming with me?”

Felix nods slowly. “I did.” A conversation he would’ve preferred to avoid, but one that absolutely needed to be had. Felix never wanted the dukedom anyway. Wanted to serve at Dimitri’s side, yes—back when Felix still thought of him by that name—but not to take responsibility for an entire territory. The inheritance can go to whoever his father thinks is best, a distant relative; it means little to Felix now. He doesn’t want the role, and he can’t exactly demand Claude renounce his throne to stay here in Fódlan. The simplest option is for Felix to accompany him to Almyra.

How his life had changed in just a handful of days. Felix should hate it, maybe. Having this choice taken away from him. Having his destiny decided by powers greater than himself.

But if his father is to be believed, Felix has been given a gift so few people ever receive. 

“Embrace this, Felix,” Rodrigue had encouraged, which under normal circumstances would make Felix want to do the complete opposite out of sheer contrariness.

But…there is a chance, however unlikely it may seem, that perhaps the fates have finally given him something he needs. Something he would have been too stubborn to choose for himself. 

It’s difficult to imagine a life with Claude. To imagine a _life_ in general, one that doesn’t involve battle cries and a sword at his hip. 

But here they are. Here he is. And Felix thinks it may not be so bad to try.

Tentatively, Felix returns Claude’s embrace. His _soulmate’s_ embrace. 

Well, as a Fraldarius, he’d been born to shield a king, hadn’t he?

It won’t be the king he expected, but maybe it _will_ be the one he was meant to protect all along.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to see the full piece of the art by MidnightSun - which you should, because it's awesome! :D - you can find it [here.](https://twitter.com/MiidniightSuun/status/1301955542257209350)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Come chat with us on Twitter: [MxTicketyBoo](https://twitter.com/MxTicketyBoo) | [dustofwarfare](https://twitter.com/dustofwarfare) <3


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